


Light Through Cemetery Glass

by Cornerofmadness



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Gen, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Trapped, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22517203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/pseuds/Cornerofmadness
Summary: He should never have listened to Malcolm Bright, words JT is sure will be engraved on his memorial plaque.
Comments: 31
Kudos: 159





	Light Through Cemetery Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [literati42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/literati42/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** Not mine, , Chris Fedak and Sam Sklaver owns it
> 
>  **Notes:** written for literati42 for the prompt of JT and Malcolm being trapped together.

XXX

“Why is everything spiders?” JT shuddered, standing in the pale sliver of light knifing through the tiny, dirty window. It barely illuminated the space. The small stained glass panel on the opposite wall added beauty but very little light. “Everywhere!”

Malcolm glanced over his shoulder, trying to ignore the ache in his head or the blood dripping into his collar. He put his hand on the sarcophagus to steady himself, fearing the knock on his head was developing into a real problem. Julian Bidwell’s sarcophagus rested longwise to the window with a wrought iron chair at its head and a wall of well-marked burial slots for other family members at its feet. They were surrounded by the Bidwell dead and apparently not-so-dead eight legged creatures. “You’re not afraid of spiders, are you, JT?”

“What? You had them as pets too?” he huffed.

“No, actually I find them very gruesome. Too many legs.”

“For once we agree. This is all your fault, Bright.” JT moved to the crypt door and rattled it.

The woman who had clobbered Malcolm and shoved him inside the mausoleum had also padlocked them in. They wouldn’t get out the only door easily but JT obviously felt the need to physically prove that fact.

“How’s it m’fault?” He touched his head, the growing lump on his scalp sticky with oozing blood. His vision became swimming ever so slightly and his tongue seemed to be the size of an overstuffed bratwurst, thickening up his speech.

“You _never_ call for back up.” JT kicked the door, and the metallic clamor sliced into Malcom’s brain.

He pressed a hand to his forehead as if he could squeeze the pain out. “We had over an hour’s drive. Why didn’t you call?”

“Because Tally dropped her morning cup of Joe all over mine and it’s sitting in rice.”

“Well, Gloria just shattered mine.” He pointed to the door window. Just outside the bronze door was what was left of his phone. Gloria Bidwell had been quick with that bat of hers. “I _did_ leave Dani a note saying we were coming to Sleepy Hollow Cemetery.”

JT snorted. “She’s probably somewhere warm, laughing her ass of at the idea and making headless horsemen jokes. I can’t believe I followed you up here based on the idea of a scavenger hunt in a damn cemetery!”

“Scavenger hunts were huge in the Victorian period and the location of certain Bidwell family treasures has been a mystery for a hundred and fifty years. Not to mention it was an obvious cipher at the first crime scene. It led Gloria here too.”

“You take the lead, JT. Go into the creepy crypt first, JT” JT grumbled, patting his gun as if reminding himself why he’d been first in or maybe contemplating a little murder. “Like I was going to work the cipher. And who knew we’d need to watch the crypt door? Of course, you get taken out because you get hurt _every_ case! Can’t believe I followed you here.”

“You _drove_ ,” Malcolm groused, smarting from the ‘you get hurt’ burn. JT pinned him with a thermite hot glare. “And I was right.” He pointed to the far wall under a stained-glass window divided between the Bidwell family crest and an intricate panel with a weeping willow at a lake. “Do you have a flashlight?”

JT pulled a small one out of his pocket and shone it on the far wall. Carved into the marble was a saying. “Great, Latin, right?”

“It says _vulpes pilum mutat, non mores_.”

“Of course, you know Latin.” JT wagged his head. “Why do you know Latin?”

“My father taught me as a child. No matter what else I can say about Martin Whitly, he never neglected my education.” Malcolm couldn’t hide the hint of bitter in his voice. Sparkles began dancing in his peripheral vision and he squeezed his eyes shut tight against them.

“You had to be the most popular kid in school.”

“I was…never mind.” He had been popular once. All that had been ripped away once his father had been exposed. Malcolm’s trade off for saving lives had been years of ridicule, bullying and beatings until finally he was put in a private school with kids so rich the theory was they’d have other things to worry about and obsess over. Good theory, lousy practice.

“What does that mean?” JT waved a hand to the carving.

“The fox changes his fur, not his habits.” Malcolm mulled that over, pairing it with what he knew of the Bidwells. He grinned. “I know where she’ll be going next.”

“Great. She’ll be out of the country with whatever these hidden family trinkets are by the time we get out of here. She’s killed two people to get this treasure and we’re trapped in the crypt and can’t call for back up or rescue. I’m never hearing the end of this.” JT rubbed his arms. “And it’s cold as hell.”

Malcolm wished JT hadn’t mentioned that because he’d been trying to ignore the fact he was getting so chilled he was close to teeth-chattering territory. “There’s a way to mitigate the cold.”

“Bright, I swear if you suggest combining our body heat, I’m putting you in with the wall people.” JT stabbed a finger at the memorial plaques and Malcolm scowled.

“It works.”

“How about living up to your name, Bright, and figure out way out of here. One that doesn’t involve me battering down that metal door.”

“I donalike your chances. It’s solid metal anchored into heava’stone.” Malcolm replied. Had he just slurred his words? 

JT scowled in the faint light. “You okay, bro?”

Malcolm touched the goose egg on his head again. “I’m pretty sure I have a concussion and the symptoms are just beginning to manifest. They’re likely to get far worse and I’m still bleeding.”

“Why didn’t you say something? You’re not going to puke, are you? This sucks enough without that.”

“I don’t think so but you never know with my stomach.”

“Perfect,” JT grumbled. He glanced around, and then grabbed the wrought iron chair under the stained glass next to the sarcophagus, left there for visiting with family, He started to lift it, and then dropped it as he flailed around.

“Spiderweb?” Malcolm guessed. It was either that or JT decided now was the best time for interpretive dance.

“So many webs.” JT performed another shuddering jig, wiping his hands on his pants. Afterward, he braced himself and grabbed the chair, pulling it into the center of the room. “Sit.”

Malcolm eyed it dubiously. “Are there spiders on it?” 

JT banged the chair down a few times, and then scanned it with the flashlight. “Not anymore. Sit.”

Malcolm did. JT shone the light close to his head and parted Malcolm’s goopy hair, gingerly. “So, thoughts on getting out of here, Bright?”

“Half my thoughts are ‘don’t vomit’ and the other are ‘this cipher is clever fun’.”

“Not helpful and you have a helluva big bump. I think the bleeding is slowing but you’ll probably need stitches and your million-dollar coat is ruined.”

“It’s not a million dollars.” It was a few thousand. Really he should start buying cheap suits and coats if he was going to be wandering through blood all day. That’s what other cops did. “Do you think it’ll stop bleeding on its own?”

“Maybe. In the war, I’ve seen people use spider webs to help hold wound edges together. I could try that.” JT didn’t sound convinced of it or more likely didn’t want to touch webs.

“Pass, let me bleed.” Malcolm shuddered. He’d probably have to shave his head for fear of spider eggs in his hair.

“How about I knock out that window and shove you through?” JT nodded toward the stained glass. “You can handle the walk back to the cemetery gate, right? It’s not far from there to some place you can call for help.”

“No!”

“Come on, you’re tougher than that. No need to shout. If we wait, your concession symptoms will have time to deepen.”

“That’s not my point. You can’t damage the glass.” Malcolm stood and stumbled over to the window. He pressed his fingers on the cold, slick surface. “It’s an antique Tiffany window.”

JT wrinkled his nose. “Who the hell cares?”

“It’s worth more than you make in a year,” Malcolm explained, wincing when he realized he sounded so classist in that moment.

“So, who the hell…really?” JT faced the window squarely studying it.

“It’s probably worth a hundred thousand or more in museum quality glass. Leave it be. Look at this sky. It’s opalescent glass.” He stroked a cloud. “It’s made with silver. And this family crest is favrile glass, Gold Lustre and Samian Red.” He pointed to the shield divided into quarters each bearing a bird of the opposite color. “Besides, the leading isn’t that easy to bust.” Malcolm survey the window’s dimensions with a scowl. “And just how thin do you think I am?”

“Trust me, I’ll make your skinny ass fit through,” JT assured him.

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “Your spatial abilities need work.”

“Want another concussion?”

Malcolm eyed him sourly. “I’m not going to fit and let’s not ruin the Bidwell family mausoleum. They’re still a family to contend with.”

“You keep it up and you’re going out through the window in the door.”

Malcolm glanced over at the opening. The windows were smaller than their heads. He snorted. “Definitely impossible.”

He couldn’t see JT roll his eyes in the gloom but Malcolm knew he was doing it. “You must think you’re bigger than you actually are.”

Malcolm ignored him, shivering. He pulled his gloves out of his pocket. “You are right about the cold.”

“Still not combining heat.” JT gently nudged him back toward the chair.

Malcolm plopped down. The iron ‘vines’ bit into his butt. “It works.”

“Just how much heat do you think your skinny ass puts out? JT chuckled.

“I suppose I would get the greater benefit if I Taun-Tauned you,” Malcolm muttered, shifting on the cold metal chair. God, it was uncomfortable as hell. He’d be better off on his feet but his energy was fleeing.

JT whipped around to face him. “Did you just make a _Star Wars_ joke?”

He shrugged but it only served to intensify his headache. “I do watch movies. I like science fiction.”

“Can’t picture it, and also was that a fat joke?”

“Not at all. You were the one who observed that I’m so much smaller than you,” he replied innocently.

“You’re a cocky little shit, do you know that?”

“It’s been pointed out.” Malcolm made a face. Gil said so daily only more gently and with less cussing.

JT walked to the window, pressing his fingers against the glass. “I’m telling you, your little ass will fit through.”

“It’s not my ass you need to worry on. It’s my shoulders that aren’t going through unless you break my collar bones and let’s leave that as a last resort, shall we?” Malcolm rolled his eyes. “And I don’t want to have to pay damages to Donovan Bidwell because you destroyed that window.” 

JT turned and leaned on the window wall. “Wait a minute. You _know_ these people, don’t you? And you never said ‘hey I know these rich snobby jerks. Admit it, this whole family has been just awful since the start of this case.”

“Yes I know them, and at mother’s next party I don’t want to have to say ‘sorry, Donovan, didn’t mean to destroy a fortune in glass but my partner never had one of those toddler shape-sorter toys growing up and doesn’t realize neither of us are fitting through that window’.”

“Smart ass. Can’t believe you know these rich bastards.” JT slapped the wall. “I should have realized.”

“I dated Gloria a few weeks as a teen. It’s probably why we’re still alive, that and she knows my boss is aware that I suspect her. Killing us won’t get her anywhere.”

“You realize that knowing your crazy ex locked us in here is just icing on a shit cake.”

“What ex? Literally a few dates ‘cause our families made us. N-n-never liked her much.” He swayed a bit in his seat. This uncomfortable topic did nothing but seem to aggravate his worsening concussion.

“Then why?”

“Did I slur the part about being made to.” Malcolm took a deep breath. Losing his considerable temper wasn’t going to help here and he did rather slur it. “JT, you married Tally out of love, right?”

“Of course. What kind of question is that?” JT began pacing. 

“You’re lucky, more than you know. If you’re as rich as the Miltons or Bidwells, you’re expected to marry well and that doesn’t mean for love. It’s still a damned business transaction for most of us. Mother married for love, and she’s never allowed to live that down. Even before we knew my father was a monster, they made sure she knew she married beneath her and the Whitlys were a relatively important family at least by how my social circle reckons such things. As it is, my mother sends me texts about girls she wants me to meet, all from the right families if y’get my meaning.” Malcolm licked his lips again fighting to restrain his temper. The angrier he got, the more he seemed to slur his speech. “If we don’t freeze to death in this crypt, I’m supposed to go out to a charity function this weekend with a woman who’s minor nobility from way back.”

“Really? Noble?”

“Like a millionth cousin of some line that hasn’t been kings in a century or something.” Malcolm shrugged. “Schpeaking of which, when we do get out of here, back me up on how severe this concussion is. I can’t _possibly_ go out this weekend.”

“You sound awful and convincing enough without my help.” JT snorted. “She might be nice.”

“I know her. She’s as interesting as watching grass grow. That night with you, Tally and Eve in the bar, that was the most fun I’ve had in years.” He sighed.

“You didn’t fit in, you know that right?”

“I do but for a moment I could pretend. I could lie to myself I was normal. But I’m not. Even for the rich and famous crowd, I’m beyond eccentric. So no to the wanton destruction of the Bidwell tomb.”

“Yeah, okay but who puts that much money into a damn tomb?”

“The Bidwells, the Rockefellers, the Astors, they’re all here you know.”

“Wait, is there a Milton family tomb here too?”

“One branch of it, yes. Remember that huge tomb with the angels on the top that y’said was bigger than your place?”

“Are you kidding me?” JT picked up speed in his pacing.

Malcolm tapped his chest. “That’s ours.”

JT shook his head. “Insane. All that money.”

“T’be fair back then there wasn’t income tax and apparently shelling guns to the Hessians and no doubt the Natives, made the Miltons verra wealthy.” Malcolm leaned forward, water brash overtaking him, filling his mouth with saliva. His concussion made itself known like an unwanted birthday gift. 

“So, for all your money, your family are just gun runners.”

“We’ve been here since the 1700s, I’m glad it was just guns they were running,” he said, words sloshing around in his mouth. JT paused in his pacing to give him a look as sour as Malcolm’s stomach. They both knew what the worst option was. 

JT flashed the light on him. “You’re looking awful, Bright.”

“My brain’s swelling,” he replied, knowing exactly what was happening but there wasn’t much he could do about it. “It’s bruised, and I think you might be right about me puking.”

“How about you try some deep breathing or something?”

Malcolm tried it because he knew it could work. After a few breaths, he said, “You don’t look good yourself.”

JT shook his head. “I’m not entirely unfamiliar with PTSD, you know.”

“I suspected it.”

“My troop spent time pinned down in a cave. This reminds me of that.”

“I’m sorry.” Malcolm knew he should actually have bothered to learn more about JT and Dani’s past but it felt intrusive. After the misstep with Dani early on with the drug case, he didn’t want to do that. “The deep breathing can help with that too. You probably try it with me.”

To his surprise, JT followed his lead. They didn’t quite synch but Malcolm could almost feel JT calming. His own stomach came back under control. He leaned over on his thighs, wrapped his arms around his knees. He wanted to go into the balasana position; it comforted his mind. But if he got on the floor, he wouldn’t get back up. And JT had a point about everything being spiders. He glanced up when JT put a hand on his back. 

“You still with me?”

Malcolm nodded weakly. “A hundred percent.”

“Dude, you’re never at hundred percent unless we’re talking the weird-o-meter.” JT grinned.

Malcolm snorted. “I’m just modifying the balasana yoga pose, not weird.”

“In general, dude and bala what?”

“The child pose. It’s a restful, quieting pose.”

“Does that actually work?”

Malcolm shrugged. “Yoga helps. Mine is not a mind that quiets, but it helps some and I had a thought about our predicament.”

JT peered at him more closely. “That doesn’t involve cuddling?”

“Not if you have a knife,” Malcolm countered.

“Are we skipping to suicide? Because I always wonder about you.”

Malcolm made a face. “A joke?”

“Mixed with genuine concern and yes, I have a pen knife, why?”

“We might not be able to break the lock but do you think you can pry the pins out of the hinge knuckles?”

JT made a humming noise. “They are probably rusted but it beats standing around here doing nothing. You gonna help?”

“Would you carry a knife in your suit?” he asked, spreading his arms, and JT made a derisive noise. Malcolm cocked his aching head. “My father said a man should always carry a good knife.”

JT held up a hand. “I’m going to stop you there. I don’t want to know any of the Surgeon’s wisdom.”

Malcolm sighed. “Maybe it’s why I tend not to carry a knife.” He shut his eyes against the quick flash of ten year old him running with a bloody knife. _Not now! I don’t need you now._ “Do you need me to hold the flashlight?”

“Think you can handle it? Your head okay?”

“I can certainly stand and hold a light.”

JT handed it off to him and Malcolm levered himself up. He lit up the hinge. JT studied it, and then tried to slide the blade under the head of the pin. He leapt back with a bellow, flailing with the knife. Malcolm jumped away nearly losing the flashlight.

“What?” His voice came out as a tight squeak.

“A huge hairy assed spider ran across my fingers.”

“Tell me you didn’t fling it on me!” Malcolm cried.

JT glared. “You get to complain when you get over here and try to dig in the spider infested hinges.” 

“I get to complain if spiders are going _airborne_ ,” Malcolm replied and retrained the light on the door. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to refocus his vision. Malcolm knew things were going to get worse soon.

“Do you want to try this?” JT swept his gaze over him. “You can’t hold the light steady.”

“So, giving me a blade would be better?” Malcolm snorted. “My vision is blurry. It might be a worse concussion than I thought.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but keep talking, bro.” JT turned from the door and took Malcolm’s flashlight after pocketing the pen knife. He tilted Malcolm’s chin up and shined the light in his eyes. “Okay, your pupils are the same size and reacting so I don’t think you have a subdural hematoma.”

“Did you see those in the military?” Not the he doubted JT’s diagnosis but he liked confirmation of facts.

“Yeah,” came the terse reply.

“Okay then. Don’t worry I don’t want you to talk about it. Trust me. I get it. I would like never to talk about my trauma.”

“Aren’t you doing that in therapy?” JT surrendered the flashlight.

“Always but that’s different than telling friends and coworkers.”

JT grunted. “True. This isn’t going to work. You know this, right?”

“It’s getting the pin out or combining body temp.”

“Or busting that window because it’s not me who has to explain to a rich snob what happened.”

“Donovan, your crazy cousin figured out the cipher at the same time I did. I didn’t expect her to come armed with a bat.”

“Yeah, why did she?” 

Malcolm shrugged. “I can’t actually tell you that. Maybe she thought someone else would figure out the cipher. Maybe she was expecting me but didn’t want to kill me. Killing her relatives is one thing. Killing a cop – and she probably thinks I’m still FBI because god knows what my mother tells people I do – ish another.”

“You said you knew what the cipher meant.” JT’s blade slipped from the hinge and his hand slammed the door, making him curse. “Care to fill me in?”

“Julian Bidwell, the one who made the cipher, was an innervate gambler. He had a lovely game room installed in all of his homes. I’m sure the hiding spot is in one of them. Poker was his thing. Gloria knows this, of course. If it’s not in the New York home, then she’ll try Boston and Rhode Island but since my phone ish dead and we’re locked up here I can’t warn anyone.”

“Sucks,” JT agreed, working some rust free. “You worried about your buddy Donovan?”

Malcolm made a disgusted sound. “Not my friend, just someone in my social circle. Does it make me too much like my father if I schay I wouldn’t care much if Gloria did get’m?”

“Yeah, dude, that’s dark.”

He harrumphed. “He tried to corral my sister when she was just fifteen. Luckily Mother insisted Gil teach us both a little bit about protecting ourselves. She nailed him hard between the legs but, of course, it was all a _misunderstanding_ sho it was swept under the rug.” He slashed his hand holding the light. The beam reflected off an angel in a niche.

JT turned around. “That’s ugly.”

“It is. Being rich sometimes equates to the belief you can do whatever you want and throw money at things to make it better when someone calls ya on your nonsense.”

“I’ve believed that for years but it’s still a disappointment to hear.”

Malcolm nodded, groaning softly as his stomach flipped.

“Are you going to puke now?”

“Maybe. I have another concern.”

“Cold? Still bleeding? Want to try the spiderweb bandage?”

“Hafta pee bad,” Malcolm replied, feeling his cheeks heat up. 

JT bowed his head. “I wish you hadn’t said that. I’ve had to since before we even got out of the damn car. I’ve been trying hard not to think about it and you’d better do the same.”

“Trying but itsh hard. Damn.”

“You’re slurring a lot now.”

“It’s taking all my concentration to make my mouth work but my balance is going too.”

“I really don’t want to have to divide up this stupid crypt as to where’s the standing areas and what’s the latrine,” JT said. “Come on, shine that light. Concentrate on that. Talk to me.”

“’Bout what?”

JT took hold of his wrist and pulled him over. He pushed Malcolm against the door. “Use that to hold yourself up and steady if you don’t want to sit in the chair again.”

“It’s not comfy.” Malcolm tried to aim the light on the hinge. “You’re not making progress.”

“That’s not what I want to talk about,” he replied but Malcolm had nothing to say to that. His head hurt too much to gather his thoughts as much as he wanted to because if he was talking, he could forget his head throbbed and his bladder shouted ‘release me.’ “You know what. I might not like some of the entitled crap that comes with your social circle but I wish I could have a little piece of that treasure Gloria’s after.”

“We all have wishes and dreams.”

“No offense but I’m afraid to know what you wish for.” JT slid the pin a fraction before it froze again.

“How could I possibly take offense to that?” Malcolm sighed. “Right now, I wish for someone to go to this stupid dinner party with other than this woman Mother wants me to go with. Does Tally have any friends who’d like a high-end dinner and dancing, no strings attached?”

“No, she likes talking to her friends and after a night with you, they’d probably never speak to her again.” JT grinned over his shoulder.

“Unkind.”

“I’m not asking Tally that but she did like you, which surprised me.”

“Thanks for nothing.” Malcolm pressed a hand to his forehead again, mostly to reassure himself it hadn’t exploded yet. “I liked your wife too.”

“’He has eyes like Bambi,’ that’s what she said. “’Why didn’t you tell me that, JT? You told me about his sense of style’.” JT snorted. “Like I go around taking notice of how big your eyes are.”

“Women tend to notice different things than men do. I’m not sure if I’m flattered or appalled that I look like Bambi.”

“It was a compliment. I think.” JT shrugged and cursed again as the blade slipped free of the pin head again. “I’m never quite sure with her when she says stuff like that.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Malcolm decided. “I wonder if Dani is free. It’s not really a date, just a way to stave off Mother.”

“That sounds like your funeral to me. Go for it.”

“You don’t think she’d like a trip to the Hamptons, fancy dinner, even fancier cocktails and a little dancing. I could introduce her to other rich idiots if she wanted.”

JT stalked away from the door, shaking out his hand. He started pacing again. “I think you’d be better off with Edrisa. You can’t have missed she’s your number one fan.”

“No, I’d have to be blind and more head damaged than I am now to miss that.” Malcolm laughed, regretting it almost instantly as pain flared in his head. “How do I put this nicely? I feel very lucky to have a friend like Edrisa but that’s all I am interested in. Not that I’m saying I’m interested in more with Dani,” he added hurriedly realizing what it might sound like. “Dani I think would understand that. I’m afraid if I take Edrisa, she might read too much into it.”

“Agreed. We’ll find you tied up in the morgue somewhere.” JT glanced over at him. “You might actually enjoy it.”

“I’m not opposed to a little bondage.”

“Do _not_ overshare. This situation is bad enough without _that_.” JT pointed the knife at him. His hand shook a bit.

“Why don’t you sit down, JT? You’re looking rough.”

JT glared around at the mausoleum walls. “I don’t like these little closed places.” 

“Give me the knife. I’ll try the hinge.”

JT made a face. “You can’t even see straight.”

“I can try.”

JT shrugged and surrendered the blade. “Go for it. Try not to stab yourself.”

Malcolm took it and JT wedged himself in the chair. Malcolm couldn’t quite find the hinge pin’s head but he didn’t think it would matter. If JT hadn’t muscled it out, he wasn’t likely to manage it. 

“How the hell did they expect anyone to sit in this chair?” JT grumbled. “It’s torture. I’d have to be as skinny as you to fit on this.”

“It’s more for decoration,” he agreed, missing the mark by a country mile, nearly breaking JT’s blade on the wall. He stared at the blade and flashed back to the woods, to the running and screaming and his hand shook horrendously.

Malcolm heard the cast iron chair scratching back on the floor and JT hurried across the room. He took his knife back from Malcolm’s shaking hand.

“What’s happening? Did you stroke?”

“Flashback,” he whispered knowing he couldn’t say ‘I’m fine’ because it was far too obvious he wasn’t. JT, as a soldier, would understand that. 

“Okay, no knives for you. Do you want to sit in the chair again?” JT put a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder but he couldn’t answer him. He shook his head. “Lean against the door.” He positioned Malcolm there.

“The metal’s cold.”

“Maybe I can kick that lock free. It’s worth a try or we’ll seriously have to think about busting that precious window of yours because I’m actually considering that combining heat thing. But I’m not sure how that’s going to work since I can’t sit in that chair and I’m not sitting on that disgusting floor until there is no other option.”

“Especially if we have to pee on the floor.”

“There you go, making it worse.”

Malcolm held up a hand. “I think I heard something.”

JT let his fingers stray to his gun as Malcolm pressed his face close to the windows without touching it and its dirt. Could Gloria have returned with a gun this time? JT followed suit. Just then a flash blinded them followed by laughter.

“Gil! They’re in the mausoleum!” Dani called loudly, and then snapped a couple more pictures of their faces through the door windows. “How did you ever end up locked in there?”

“Damn it, Dani, stop that!” JT barked.

“Are you kidding? This is hysterical!”

“Bright has a head wound.”

“Of course, he does.” 

Malcolm scowled. 

Dani turned. “Gil, bring some bolt cutters. They’re padlocked in, and JT said Bright has a head wound.”

“Of course, he does.”

Malcolm made an exasperated sound, pounding his fist against his thigh. Why did they always assume he’d be hurt? Oh, right. 

“He’s on his feet if nothing else,” she called back, and turned back to the door. “You okay, Bright?”

“I have a concussion and we’re really cold. How did you know to come up here? I mean I know I told you we were coming here but why did you follow us so quickly, not that I’m complaining.”

“Donovan Bidwell was in for questioning and he said his crazy cousin came north to Sleepy Hollow because she’d lost it.” Dani made air quotes. “I remembered your suspicions about her and when we couldn’t raise you or JT, Gil suggested we come. There are a lot of woods up here. I’m a little weirded out about how dense it all is. I saw an actual deer!”

“I know. Itsh quite pretty.”

“Okay that didn’t sound good.”

“He’s getting worse,” JT said.

“Give me some room, Dani,” Gil said.

It didn’t take him long to get the lock off and free them. Malcolm stumbled out into the wind, which enveloped him in its icy maw. He turned to Gil and said, “We need to get someone to all of the Bidwell homes. The family treasure is in the game room but I’m not sure which home. Gloria isn’t going to stop now.”

“We’ll call it in,” Dani assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Bright, you okay?”

“It’s definitely a concussion.”

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” Gil said.

“We need to stop at the nearest gas station first,” JT said.

“Why?” Dani eyed them.

“We have to pee and I’m not doing that here,” Malcolm said. “Also, I might puke.”

“You can’t go into a gas station, Bright. You look like an escapee from a Slasher flick. You’ll scare people.” Dani said, handing him his broken phone.

“She’s right. You’ll either need a tree here or hold it til we get to the hospital,” Gil said. “Let’s get you to the car. JT, are you okay to drive him there?”

JT nodded. “I’m fine. I was already inside when she surprised him with the bat and locked us in. She didn’t hit me.”

“JT, I hate to say it.” Malcolm pointed to his head. “Spider in your hair.”

JT flailed around like he was on fire.

“I think you got it,” Malcolm said then looked at Gil. “Not sure I trust him to drive. He’s jumpy and cold.”

“You’re just mad I said no to the combining body heat.” JT caught Malcolm’s arm and propelled him toward his car. 

“I’m really glad I didn’t have to see you two spooning in a crypt.” Dani laughed loud and free. “I would have had to tell Edrisa that one.”

“Don’t you dare. I will admit, after a few hours inside that cold stone crypt, I’m frozen to the bone. I’m blasting the heater in this thing.” JT opened his car door and got in while Malcolm fumbled his blurry visioned way to the passenger side. He stopped hearing the ear-splitting invective JT snarled out. He bailed back out of the car and opened the hood. “Damn it.”

“What?” Gil asked.

“I didn’t lock the car since we were just popping inside the tomb for a minute to look to see if there was part of the cipher in there. She opened the hood and cut my battery wires.” JT slammed the hood back down, and the bang diced Malcolm’s brain.

Gil draped an arm around Malcolm’s shoulders and guided him to the LeMans. “We’ll have to go together. JT, you should be checked out for hypothermia and we’ll send someone to deal with the car.”

“Not to mention spider bites.”

“Damn it, Bright! Yeah, okay.” JT got to the Pontiac before Malcolm and he folded down the front passenger seat and pointed to the back. “Get in the back, Bright.”

“But my head hurts. I don’t want to sit in the back,” he whined.

“That’s a narrow back seat. Your skinny butt will be fine. Try not to puke on Powell or the front seat.” JT grinned.

“But…”

JT gave him a look.

Sighing, Malcolm climbed inside and Dani sat next to him. 

“I only have one blanket in the car,” Gil said.

“Give it to Bright. He has no meat on him. He has to be even more frozen than I am,” JT said.

Gil handed Dani the blanket. She tucked it around Malcolm and tugged him closer to her as Gil and JT got in. Gil guided the car toward the way out of the immense and hilly cemetery until JT asked him to stop in front of an angel bedecked mausoleum. He pointed out the window.

“That one?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you two talking about?” Dani asked.

“That’s the Milton family crypt,” JT said.

Dani blinked as Gil started driving again. “That’s bigger than my apartment.”

“That’s what I said.”

“The family has money.” Malcolm said. “Gil, can we hurry?”

“Don’t worry. Once we’re out of here, we’ll fly,” Gil promised.

“Thanks.” Malcolm leaned against Dani. “Dani, would you like to save me from a really boring dinner party and have dinner with me in the Hamptons?”

“Do I want to know what this is about?” she asked.

“Just say yes. You’ll get a fancy dinner, a night with skinny, little and weird and maybe a place in that mausoleum if you play your cards right.” JT chuckled.

“JT,” Gil grumbled.

“Don’t be a jerk and, Bright, seriously what are you talking about?” Dani asked.

He didn’t answer, letting his eyes shut as he melted against her, snuggling to the blanket. The concussion was winning the war. He’d explain later but right now he was warming up and all he wanted was a nice spider-free rest. There would be time for everything else later. With a soft sigh, he surrendered.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve never seen Sleepy Hollow cemetery, you should. It has amazing history and cemetery art. I’ve been trapped in a mausoleum, not like depicted here but it was the kernel the story grew out of. It’s always hard to know how to write slurring of speech without it become obnoxious but with a head wound and grade two concussion like this, the fact that Malcolm is making any sense is a miracle.
> 
> And yes some have used spiderwebs as wound care.


End file.
